The War Torn Doll, an Alamo story
by AuronLuver
Summary: Roy Fletcher never wanted to go back to war, he never wanted to fight in the Alamo and leave his wife and daughter. But he had no choice, and once he was there, he knew there was no turning back. Rated M for violence. Historical fiction, short story.


My mom and I walked hand-in-hand inside the large crumbled doorway of the Alamo. We traveled down the halls, admiring the architecture, peering into glass display cases, and staring at the luscious gardens. But something caught my eye.

A doll. It was a small cloth doll in a display case. She had yellow yarn hair and green beaded eyes. She wore a faded torn dress that had once been brightly colored cloth.

She was beautiful.

I stared into the green beaded eyes and suddenly they looked real. The green eyes of a little girl.

_She was seven. The little girl looked like the doll. Blonde hair, green eyes. She was looking into the eyes of a man. Her father. He had hazel eyes and the same blonde hair as his daughter._

_ "Daddy, don't go!" she whined_

"_Annie," he murmured. "I have to. It's my duty."_

_ "I'll miss you."_

"_And I'll miss you, sunshine. I love you."_

_Annie gazed into her father's eyes. She held out a small cloth doll. The doll looked exactly like her._

"_Take her, Daddy. Remember me."_

_Her father smiled faintly as he took the doll from his daughter's small hands._

"_I will sweetheart. I love you. Remember that. I love you and I always will. Goodbye, Annie."_

_ He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. He gathered a bundle, and disappeared into the swirling mist around him._

_ Annie watched after him. When she could see him no more, she bent down and cried._

"_Edward Fairfield, Alamo."_

_ A man stepped out of line, saluted, and obediently stepped back in place._

_ "Roy Fletcher."_

_ A handsome man stepped out, his blonde hair cut short and swaying slightly in the wind. He saluted and stepped back into place, anxiety pulsing through his veins as he wondered where he would be placed._

_ "Alamo."_

_ He furrowed his brow in slight frustration. Annie's father nodded and mumbled a small "sir"._

_ "Samuel Flynn." The names continued to be read out._

_ "Lieutenant Fletcher."_

_ Roy peered behind him to see a tall broad man staring at him with a serious expression. His hair was covered by a tri-corn hat, but small strands of brown hair could be seen. No doubt it was Commander William Barret Travis._

_ "I'm stationing you in the Long Barracks. Understood?" he asked gruffly._

_ "Sir!" Roy replied snapping a salute. He walked towards the deteriorating soon-to-be fort._

_Roy Fletcher was sitting on a small bunk. He held a piece of paper and a quill pen. A pot of ink sat on a small table next to his bunk._

_ He was writing._

'My Dear Eliza,

'I have been stationed in the Alamo. My sleeping quarters lie in the Long Barracks. So far, I am alone in this room. But I fear that when more allies arrive we will be overcrowded.

'Because of my rank, I highly doubt I will be placed on the front lines. There is nothing to worry about.

'Give my regards to Annie. Tell her I love her and miss her dearly.

'Forever yours,

'Roy'

_Roy smiled, picturing the look on Annie's face when he returned home._

_There was a knock at the door. Roy looked up. "Come in," he said._

_The door opened. A soldier stood there. He saluted._

"_James Bowie has arrived at the Alamo and requests your presence at the chapel."_

_Roy stood. "Thank you. Dismissed."_

_The soldier saluted again and left._

_Roy took a deep breath and exited his sleeping quarters, leaving his letter to his wife and daughter on his bed._

_He walked towards the chapel courtyard, admiring the sparkling water of the fountain. He soon entered the chapel and saw an unfamiliar man standing with Commander Travis. He had a similar build to Travis and black hair. He had coarse stubble and looked somewhat like a ruffian._

"_Ah, Lieutenant Fletcher," Travis said, turning. "This is James Bowie. He and I have come to an agreement. You will be placed on the front lines."_

_Roy stood speechless, staring in shock at Travis and Bowie. "The front lines? But Commander…"_

"_I understand your distress, Lieutenant, but we are low in men. I have faith in you."_

"_With all due respect, sir, I do not want to be placed on the front lines. I have been in the military for many years and I have fairly earned my rank and I believe I should be placed farther back."_

_Travis narrowed his eyes. "Lieutenant," he said. "Commander Bowie and I agreed that you would be on the front line. You are more experienced in battle than many others we have recruited. You __will__ stay in the front lines."_

_Roy gritted his teeth. "I respect your decision. But it is because I have more experience that I believe I have the right to choose my locations in battle."_

"_I have a higher rank than you! I have more of an input on where you are positioned. This is not up for discussion Lieutenant! You will stay where I place you!" Travis spat._

"_But, sir-"_

"_Dismissed."_

"_But-"_

"_DISMISSED!"_

"_I…I…understand, Commander," Roy said tensely. He turned on his heel and marched from the room. He walked through the courtyard, registering none of its beauty._

_Roy stormed into his room and collapsed onto his bunk. He rested his hands in his head angrily. As he sat there, he saw a piece of paper out of the corner of his eye. He picked it up. The letter._

'Because of my rank, I highly doubt I will be placed on the front lines. There is nothing to worry about.'

"_Enemy approaching!" yelled a messenger from the courtyard, running up to Commander Travis. "Appears to be a courier, sir! Followed by a general and a small group of troops in attachment with Santa Anna!"_

"_I see. Prepare the militia. Fire on my command." Travis ushered Roy to his side. "I want you to prepare the cannon."_

"_Right away, sir!" Roy said, hiding the slight adrenaline rush he was experiencing. He had been in the military for years but he had never once fired a cannon and the thought of doing so cracked the tiniest smile on his face._

_Pulling the large contraption towards a cut-out square in the wall, he positioned it so that he had a perfect shot of the courier. Loading a heavy cannonball he stood by the ignition string, a match in his hand, eager to cause a disruption._

"_On my command," Travis said coolly._

"_Surrender the Alamo if you do not wish to be killed!" the courier shouted, his horse shifting around anxiously._

"_Fire," Travis said coolly. Roy flicked the match, the flame sparking to life as it licked the ignition string hungrily, eating away the string until the cannon fired. Everyone's hands flew to their ears to block the explosive sound as the cannon lurched backwards._

_Screams erupted from Santa Anna's men as the courier was shattered, sparse limbs scattered followed by the remains of his steed. Cheers burst from the militia as shots rang and one by one Santa Anna's men fell in a frenzy of panic._

_The war had started._

_The walls were crumbling. The enemy was attacking, and tremors shook the floor. Cannonballs flew, shots erupted, and people fell to the ground._

_A large group of men were sighted running towards the Alamo. More of Santa Anna's men?_

_The small army raised their guns and opened fire. The bullets whizzed past, hitting Santa Anna's troops._

_Cheers erupted from the troops guarding the Alamo. A surge of hope coursed through them and they fought with a new intensity._

_One of Santa Anna's men was an amazing shot. His fires almost always hit their mark. He carefully took aim at Roy Fletcher._

_Roy took no notice, fighting alongside the new group of soldiers._

_One of the new soldiers saw. He had black hair and dark eyes. He watched as Santa Anna's man's finger tensed on the trigger._

_The new soldier reached for his rifle. He took aim and fired at the enemy soldier._

_He dropped his gun and fell to the floor, clutching his stomach._

_More of the enemy was falling._

"_RETREAT!"_

_Hundreds of Mexican soldiers fled the Alamo, occasionally turning around to fire one last shot on their rifles._

_Roy smiled and turned to the soldier that had saved him._

"_We did it."_

_The small barracks were flooded with people. Cheers were hear throughout the Alamo. Roy made his way over to a certain young man._

_Laying his hand on the man's shoulder, he smiled and sat down next to him. The man turned around and made the same warm smile._

"_I never got to thank you for back there," Roy chuckled. He looked at the young man. He had black hair that was slightly cropped and dark eyes, almost black._

"_Oh," he laughed, shaking Roy's hand. "It was nothing, really. I'm sure you would've done the same."_

_Roy smiled. "I am in your debt. _

_May I know your name?" Roy asked playfully._

"_My name is Alexander Booth. I am attached to Lieutenant George C. Kimball's Gonzales and I am a soldier. I just joined the militia."_

_Roy smiled, but his mouth slightly twitched in annoyance. To think, that he was saved y a man of lower rank. He pushed the small detail aside._

"_I am Roy Fletcher and I'm under the command of Commander William Barret Travis. I'm a second Lieutenant and I've been here God knows how long." He chuckled._

"_I believe we may be seeing each other at our positions on the front lines, am I correct."_

_Roy nodded sadly and looked around at the other men. "I fear that we may not last long," Roy sighed, standing up._

"_Everyone!" an announcer snapped. "Go back to your quarters, except the new troops. You are on night watch!" The announcer turned on his heel and stalked out of the room._

"_Good luck," Roy said lightly._

"_Sir!" Alex chuckled as he saluted Roy. And then they went their separate ways._

_Bowie had fallen ill. Typhoid pneumonia. He wasn't expected to last the battle. Everyone was sad and stressed. The walls were crumbling steadily and supplies were running short. Travis had vowed to "never surrender or retreat…Victory or Death."_

"_ATTACK!"_

_Roy shot up out of bed and grabbed his things in a frenzy; quickly slipping his coat on and loading his gun. Running up the ramps, he headed up to the top part of the Alamo. More specifically, where Alexander was._

_Once there, they quickly took cover and shot furiously. Men fell in shouts and gasps, falling in to pools of blood. Travis ran out with his men._

_He only lasted about a minute He was shot down by the northern wall as we stared is shock and sorrow._

_Hope drew from the soldiers as they all began to retreat, only to be shot down._

_Roy and Alexander slunk away, quickly sneaking through dark corridors towards the church, the safe haven._

_Gasping, shots rang past their ears as they dove hind the large fountain, taking cover from the bullets._

_Loading and shooting their guns, they fired like mad men, knocking men down like pins._

_After what seemed like hours, Alexander peeked out to shoot when a shot rang out. Alex gasped as he stumbled back several steps, showing the bullet wound in his skull as blood poured out rapidly. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell, collapsing into the still fountain waters, the light crystal blue water turning a disturbing red._

_Roy held his breath as he felt his whole being shake. His comrade had fallen before his eyes. He felt sick to the stomach. Loading his gun, a new surge of anger and determination spread through him and he snapped out and shot the man who had killed his friend._

_The man yelled, the shot hitting him in his jugular, blood spurting out as he fell to the floor._

_Reloading, Roy peeked out again to fire when a searing pain crushed through him. He looked down and saw a small hole leaking blood located in his chest. Falling to his knees, his gun clattered to the floor as he crumpled down into a pool of his own blood. He gasped as life slowly slipped away from him._

"_I…I love you, Annie…Eliza"_

"Sara!"

My hand was pressed up to the glass of the small display case, the doll sitting there eerily calm. I shuddered, thinking about what I had just witnessed. Had the doll given me that vision? I shakily withdrew my hand from the case.

For the first time I saw the label under the display case.

"**This doll was found in the possession of second Lieutenant Roy Fletcher at the time of his death. 1811-1836."**

"Sara!" My mom called again.

I turned and ran off to join her.

"There you are," she said.

I was silent, thinking. I now understood the horrible things that had happened here. Right where I was standing.

My mom looked at me curiously.

"Are you all right, Sara?"

I looked outside a window and spotted a fountain. I gazed at it and the picture of Alexander Booth lying there swept into my mind.

"Sara, what's wrong?"

I gave one last glance at the doll and then I turned to my mother.

"That doll looks like me."


End file.
